


Luck of the Draw

by susiephalange



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Happy Ending, Prophetic Visions, Reader has visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7612408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader never really has that much luck. Except for the time Ash sends her on the same hunt as a few familiar hunters...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck of the Draw

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request, asked to be something alike my story _Tough Love_. I hope I did it justice!

The first sign of your very not normal, supernaturally-inclined life began one night, where instead of dreaming, you saw something else behind your eyes. It was...surreal. Like something someone straight out of a LSD trip would be hit with, rather than you, a retail worker from Indiana. But it happened, and, it happened again and again, and...again. More often while you were awake, and once while driving to work. You thought nothing of it. You just saw things that came true; like a small-town minimum wage freak show.   

You thought nothing of it for three months until one of your visions of your fiance came true. You thought nothing of it; it had been just a daydream compared to the other flashes you'd had, much alike migraines. But as you pulled up in the driveway of your little house in the suburbs, it felt off. 

That was because, laying in the backyard, the hose still watering the rose garden, was your fiance, body in shreds and heart missing from his chest. You had run away after that: everyone had spread rumours around the small town that you had done it to him, or that the house had been cursed. But whatever it was, you were gone. 

Goodbye, day job.

 

 

 

 

**Fourteen Months Later**

The day had began with a text from Ash, sending you 50 miles out of your way cross-country to a small lakeside town for a problematic skin changer clan. You didn't mind; you'd already had the vision of the call, and were nearly in the area before Ash had even called. Your friends at the Roadhouse called you a freak of nature, sure, but there was no greater hunter than you. Not everyone could see the future in snippets, sometimes all at once or in stages, through smells or sounds, phrases or pictures. Whatever it was, you saw what could happen. 

Before you made it to the bar, though, you couldn't help but sigh at the sound of sirens.

"If only my psychic abilities excluded me from speeding tickets," you mutter under your breath. But, because you were such a model citizen, you pulled your pickup truck over.

"Ma'am, thank you for pulling over, we'd like to ask you a few questions," a grizzled older man approached the driver's side of the car. He had a kind face, and a beard growing in like a redneck. But he was nice. "Is that okay with you?"

You take a deep breath. "Is it about my speeding? Because my odometer is slightly off, and I will defiantly get it fixed tonight." you reply, and squinting, you hit the steering wheel. "Bobby Singer? How long has it been?"

Bobby wipes a hand over his face. "Too long, ________. I didn't recognise you in this truck."

You laugh. "Bought her myself. So, what can I help you with, Officer Singer? You here for the same thing I am?"

He nods. "Yeah, along with the Winchester boys, but they're way ahead of me. Already at the bar, lucky bastards." he motions back to the police car, "I'll get Rufus to drive that to the motel. Care to give an old man a lift to drink top shelf?"

You reach over and open the passenger door. "I'd be delighted to be a model citizen."

Walking into the bar, Bobby motions to you the two suited men sitting at a table. There's one digging into a burger like it's the first thing he's eaten in his 30 years of life, and the other is calmly reading something from a laptop.

"Boys," Bobby addresses them, "This is ________. She's in town for the same job. Sent in by Ash, would you believe it?"

The cheeseburger-eating man smiles. "Hi. I'm Dean," he greets you with a mouthful. "You look too pretty to be a hunter."

"Quit it Dean, looks aren't every-," the other man looks up at you, and is startled at your appearance. "Sorry. I - I'm Sam. Hi."

Bobby chuckles, and patting your back, goes off toward the bar. "I'll leave you to the greetings and stuff," he huffs.

Dean shuffles over, and grabs a seat from a nearby table. "So, where do you know Bobby from? Old friends?" he prompts you. Slowly, you take a seat, but at once, the smell of the cheeseburger perpetrated your thoughts with the tell-tale feeling of a vision coming on. _Not now,_ you whisper internally.

"I was a sales assistant turned hunter," you smile at Sam, who seems to have a hot flush taking over his face, it's quite rosy. "Bobby trained me up and got me connections to the Roadhouse and a couple of other hunters." you smile. "So, from what I gather, you two are the famous Winchesters?"

Dean chuckles. "Well, darling-,"

"Yeah, I guess we are. We're just doing our jobs, and trying to make the world a safer place." Sam interrupts his brother, "I mean, isn't that what all hunters work for?"

You take a deep breath, and gaze into Sam's eyes. "I think I like you, Sam Winchester."

A week later, and four skin-changers put to rest later, you found yourself standing by the side of Sam's car, hand on the bonnet. And, unlike many other hunts, you can't manage to get the words of farewell out and drive away into the sunset in your pickup. The taller man approaches you, and before his mouth opens, everything turns black.

A vision.

 

 

 

_Your hand is warmed by another hand, one that is not yours for a change. You had not felt this secure since...since the passing of your fiancé. But here you are, and looking up, the person keeping your fingers toasty...is Sam Winchester._

_"I know you said we spent it all on the wedding, but I had a backup bank account," he starts off, pulling the car over in the middle of the street, in amidst houses in the suburbs, "...this is my present to you, _______, my beautiful wife."_

_You glance away from his beautiful eyes, to see a green house, complete with a garden -_

 

 

 

"________! Are you okay?" Sam is holding, kneeling down like you had just been a limp sack of potatoes. "You just...went out like a light!"

You rub your face, nodding. "Please don't hurt me for this, but I get visions, of the future." you admit. _Never_ had you admitted that before with any other hunter. But from what you just saw...

Sam's eyes widen. "I used to get those," he blurted out.

You chuckle. "We match!"

Sam smiles. "Well, before you went out cold, I was going to ask if you wanted to trade phone numbers to keep in touch, but now...I want to make sure you don't black out driving."

You blush. "You don't have to - it's not like that it would be the first time for that. But I would love your phone number. And possibly a kiss for the road. Two?"

From the other side of the car, Dean chuckles. "Keep this girl, Sammy."

 

 

 

The house is quiet, and for once, that isn't terrifying. It's quiet because for once, there aren't the sound of gunshots reverberating in your ear, or the sound of footsteps that aren't made by a creeping creature you have to kill on sight. No. You are right where your vision predicted: in safety. In love. In paradise on earth.

You are on the lounge, reading quietly. Across your lap, lies Sam; he's been quiet lithe, slow, like a normal tall American, and not a Veteran for a war nobody knew existed. He reads the same book you are, head tilted to read the pages at the same rate you are. If you had thought your life with your passed previous fiancé had been perfect, you had been sorely mistaken.

This was perfect.

"Sam?" you whisper, glancing down at your husband.

He hadn't spoken for a while; whenever the pair of you did this sort of thing, he would complain at your slow reading. But instead of staring at you with his adorable pout, his gorgeous eyes, they are closed, his chest rising and falling with every sleepy breath he takes.

"I freaking love you, Sam Winchester."

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
